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User blog:DB Baxter/A Gathering Force - The Good Doctor (6/9)
May 5th, 2285 Providence, Rhode Island 9:36 AM The town of New Reho, formed out of the remains of what was once Rehoboth, was a town that no one cared to mess with. It offered no resources for raider gangs to be tempted, no strategic position for the Brotherhood to take advantage of. It’s only job was to exist. So for a few members of the settlement, it was quite a shock when a small army of robots, accompanied by some man in a suit, demanding to know the whereabouts of one Victor Dupont. To others, it wasn’t a surprise. The mysterious man had shown up in New Reho about 3 weeks ago, and hadn’t stirred up much trouble. But now that there were armies turning up on their doorstep, the mayor, gazing down at the picture of Mr. Dupont, had decided quite suddenly that this man was not welcome in his town anymore. “Look, we’re a quiet town. Never bothered anyone, and never have been bothered, Mr. Hank” The mayor said, putting the picture down on his desk. “Mr. Dupont has taken up residence in the old church. He’s a very religious man, they tell me. So, you go there, and you get him, and you never come back. Is that… acceptable?” “Absolutely,” Hank said, returning the picture to the inside of his coat pocket. “As I said, we’ve come in peace. We just need the doctor.” “And those killer robots surrounding the town? Are they supposed to be carrying the olive branch with them?” The mayor asked. “It’s a precautionary measure, sir. I’m sure you understand,” Hank bowed, making for the door. “If you were to, say, have any foolish thoughts of starting a conflict…” The mayor sighed, sinking back into his chair. “No intention of it…” “Then we’ll have no issue,” Hank shrugged. He pressed a button and opened the channel on his Pip-Boy. “All units, proceed to the church. We have a location.” ---- The old church had no business standing where it stood. The boards had held together for the last 200 years, but just barely. It creaked in the light breeze, shuddering and howling in such a way that it made Hank rethink the idea of walking in to collect the doctor. “Sir, calculations suggest that there is a 22.5% chance of the building collapsing on itself if you enter,” One of the robots spat out. Hank had asked him to state his chances. “Thank you,” He sighed, walking cautiously up to the door. It was dark. The only light inside, as was the case with most abandoned places, was what rays were able to seep through the cracks in the walls. The windows, stained with colors at one point, had lost their luster and were as grimy as the rest of the wastelands. Some windows had been smashed and boarded up. There was a cross, from which a clay-molded replica of Jesus and the cross that looked down upon the entire room. And directly below that, Dupont was standing there. He couldn’t tell what he was operating on, but there was a lot of dried blood on the table that he had set up. As he drew closer, he could see it was a person on the medical table. “Mr…. Dupont?” Hank asked. “Come in… I’ll be with you in… juuust, a moment,” He said. His voice was smooth, clean. Unravaged by smoking and radiation. “Alright, Mr. Rivers, everything is looking stable… You’ll have a few marks on the abdomen, but other than that, everything looks fine.” “Thank you, doc…” The man on the table said, taking a deep breath. “Now please, try to avoid ending up in Mirelurk nests again, would you?” The doctor said. “One of these days, you’ll meet the queen, and I will probably be unable to put your parts back together. Stick to hunting Mole Rats, okay?” “Alright…” Rivers said, rolling off of the table and taking a few small steps forward. Eventually, he got used to the feeling of having stitches in his sides and walked out of the church. Hank watched him go with mild interest. “Now… what can I do for you?” Victor asked, peeling his blood-stained rubber gloves off of his hands and setting them down inside a trash bin. “You don’t look hurt…” “I’m not here for a check-up,” Hank shook his head. “I’m on business trip, Mr. Dupont.” “Ah… business,” Victor murmured. “I see… very funny how that word can be twisted into good or bad. What sort of business?” “You’re a very unpopular man, Mr. Dupont,” Hank began. “The Brotherhood has put a very large price on your head. You are aware of this?” Victor looked the man up and down, before chuckling and slowly approaching the table he had operated on. “Yes, I’m well aware of the bounty…” In a very quick motion, Victor reached underneath the table and pulled a submachine gun out from seemingly thin air. Around the barrel, a piece of duct tape hung loosely. It appeared that the doctor had been prepared for this situation. “I take it that you’d be interested in collecting?” Victor remained calm and collected as Hank reached for the sky. “You’re not the first. Frankly, I’m a little insulted they only sent one of you this time.” “Mr. Dupont, I assure you… I am not here to collect some frivolous bounty,” Hank slowly tried to put his hands down, only for Victor to move the gun closer to his chest and forced him to keep his hands high in the air. “Quite the opposite; I’m here to offer you asylum.” “Asylum?” Victor seemed skeptical now. “With who?” “I represent Salvator Industries,” Hank continued. “We detest the Brotherhood just as much as you do, sir, if not more.” “Well good for you!” Victor put his gun down for the moment. “Open your suit jacket.” “Pardon?” “I cannot make that order any more clear," Victor said. "Open the suit jacket." Hank sighed and quickly unbuttoned his jacket, opening it up to reveal nothing except the red inner fabric of his dust-covered suit. “What exactly is the point of this?” “Making sure you aren’t armed, of course…” Victor’s eyes scanned over his body and jacket pockets. Upon seeing that there wasn’t anything in there, he motioned down to his shoes. “Roll up your pant legs.” “Doctor, this isn’t-“ “If you value the fact that there are no bullets in your intestines, then you will pull them up.” Hank rolled his eyes and roughly grabbed the bottom of his pant legs. He yanked them upwards to reveal nothing but a pair of white socks and worn-out dress shoes. “Alrighty…” Victor slowly sat his gun down on the table. He took a deep breath and brushed some dirt off of his apron. “And what exactly would you have to gain from granting me asylum, Mr…?” “Hank Williamson.” “Mr. Williamson… I’m sure there’s numerous other medical fops you can find that don’t have an entire army hunting them down…” “Well-“ “And no, I don’t have any information on the Brotherhood. No juicy secrets, no battle plans, no locations, and no weak spots in the armor…” Victor interrupted him. “So if you were hoping to find something like that, you’re better off finding an actual Brotherhood member.” “Look, Mr. Dupont, it wasn’t my decision to grant you a position in our organization. I just-“ “Are you offering asylum or a job, friend?” Victor said. “There’s a difference.” “You’ll have to speak with-“ “I am speaking with a member of this organization right now, am I not?” “Yes, but-“ “Then are you offering a job or asylum, Mr. Williamson?” “A job,” Hank finally said. “We need use for your medical talents, and willingness to fight.” Victor laughed. “Willingness… a cornered rat isn’t willing. Fight or death is hardly leaving any room for a ‘willing’ choice.” “Whatever the case, I am just here to collect you,” Hank had already tired of this man’s prattle and simply wanted to be out of this church before it collapsed. “You are without a doubt the worst recruiter I have ever spoken with,” Victor sighed. “But, then again, I think you’re the only recruiter I’ve spoken with… So I suppose in technical terms, you are also the best I have ever spoken with. If I were to grade on a curve, you’d have an A in the class.” Hank gritted his teeth, but kept his composure as he took in a deep breath. “Doctor…” “However, since I do not grade on a curve, it’s an F, I’m afraid,” Victor said, turning to his back to Hank. “Dr. Dupont, I will not be taking no for an answer,” Hank spat. “Listen, you can either lay down here, forever serving a band of undeserving farmers, who were willing to sell out your location to me, might I add. You could spend forever hiding from the boot of the Brotherhood, or you could put your expertise to use for someone who recognizes the talent!” “So you’ve come all the way out here to offer me a yes or no choice, but no is not an option?” Dupont frowned. “It seems that this deal is not in my favor.” Hank had half a mind to reach out across the table and strangle this bastard, but he kept his hands to his side, instead choosing to straighten out his suit and shake his head. “I believe we’re done here.” “I thought you weren’t taking no for an answer,” Victor said. “Yes, well… I do suppose things have changed,” Hank turned, and began making for the door. “Goodbye, doctor.” “Will your employer be furious?” Victor asked. “I beg your pardon?” “Well… typically, if some secretive organization sends out a large man in a suit with a pompous way of articulating his words… it typically means that the person being retrieved is of large importance…” Victor figured. “Would your employer be furious if you return to him or her empty handed?” “… We’ll find another,” Hank said. “Was that a response to me, or was that to assure yourself?” “Stop questioning me!” Hank huffed, nearing the door before he stopped. The doctor had him beat, didn’t he? Castile would not accept him coming back without him. He’d be ousted to the wastes of America, which was a fate that would result in his doom. “Doctor Dupont… what can I say to convince you to leave this church?” Hank asked. “Well, if you were to tell me this church was haunted, I may leave…” Victor shrugged. "Disturbing the rest of spirits is no laughing matter, you know?" “You know what I mean,” Hank sighed, tired of this man’s wordplay. “Well… let’s see… if it is I who gets to decide the terms of this agreement, then I’d say… well, I would like my own lab to operate in… something clean, or cleaner at least…” Victor tapped his chin. “As well as perhaps a change of clothes… and a few medical tools as well… Maybe an assistant to help…” “I can do that!” Hank almost yelled, overjoyed that he was now getting somewhere. “I can request that, yeah!” “And, of course, if I were to in fact leave this place, I would ask that you at the very least keep these people provided with some form of medical attention,” Victor said. “It would be very unbecoming of a doctor to leave his patients high and dry…” “Of course!” “And, I would hope for…” The doctor looked around the room as he pondered what else he could demand of the man. “… that you, nor your associates, will ever have any contact with the Brotherhood of Steel regarding my bounty.” “Of course not!” “… And a puppy,” “I… a puppy?” Hank frowned. “Yes, a puppy… I do grow lonely when my schedule is clear. And I could use something for stress, I suppose… are you at all familiar with Jack Russells? Very cute things. I had one when I was a boy…” “I… I can see about the dog,” Hank sighed. “Alright then… I suppose this is a done deal then…” Victor said. “Just allow me some time to clean up my things and… I will set out with you, I suppose.” Hank blinked. “Just… I, that’s it” “That is it…” Victor shrugged. “I would be more than happy to go… I never said “no, I don’t want to go”. You merely got frustrated until the point you wanted to leave…” “I…” “You really do need to work on your recruiting skills, Mr. Williams,” Victor said smugly Hank let out a long breath. He hated his job. ---- May 5th, 2285 Salvator Headquarters (Jacksonville, Florida) 4:25 PM Helen sat back in her chair, staring out at the ocean view that her office gave her, with a smug grin on her face. Williams had just radioed in that Victor Dupont was secure and will be on his way to Salvator by tomorrow. She relished the fact that this was all going so smoothly. Just a few more heads to pick up, and she would be ready to start putting Salvator back on the map. But she knew not to get a head of herself. There was still the matter of the more stubborn of her selections… Especially Six. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her office door. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and said “Come in.” The door opened slowly, and she heard the heavy steel-toed boots of Rick Deere walk into her office. “You wanted to see me, boss?” He asked. “Welcome in, Mr. Deere…” She said, turning her chair and putting out her cigarette in the ash tray. “I trust your stay here so far has been going… adequately?” “Oh, you kiddin?” Rick laughed. “I ain’t seen this much action since the war… I’m havin’ a helluva time!” “Good to hear…” She smiled. “I’m glad your enjoying all the work… because I have another assignment for you.” “Oh, another one?” Rick grinned, plopping down in the visitor’s chair and setting his mask down on the table. “What’s it now?” “I have yet another mission regarding recruitment,” She said. She opened one of the file drawers and quickly skimmed through the labels, before grabbing the one that she needed and plopping it down on the table. “Are you a familiar with Caesar’s Legion?” “The Roman bastards?” Rick squinted. “Yeah… ain’t much of a fan of ‘em. Why… ah hell, are we bringin’ one of those nutjobs onto this thing? Because look, I thought the arsonists and the mutant were a stretch, but if you’re talkin’ about bringing one of those fruitcakes into-“ “Relax, Mr. Deere, we’re not recruiting any of their numbers,” She rolled her eyes, opening the folder in front of them. “Quite the opposite, in fact… we’re recruiting one of their most wanted.” She pulled the chain on her lamp, shedding more light onto the pictures that were in the folder. Inside, Rick saw black and white photos of some man in a handlebar moustache, armed to the teeth with a rifle, a few explosives, and what looked to be a grenade launcher. The pictures ranged from him being clearly defined and even posing for a view, others had him highlighted amongst a crowd in Red Marker. The ones that drew Ricks attention, however, involved the ones with he and what appeared to be men of Caesar’s Legion. The photos there showed him with a gun aimed at them or a grenade being thrown, coupled with corpses lying about or being thrown through the air via explosions. “His name is Duncan Graham. A vigilante of sorts, operating in Idaho and Wyoming,” Helen explained. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of him, but he’s constantly dodging us… that’s why we’re sending you out to talk to him.” “I ain’t much of a talker, boss…” Rick said. “You’re both soldiers of justice. I’m sure you can find some common ground,” Helen said. “Besides… I’m sure he won’t intimidate you like he has all my other men…” “What, this guy?” Rick laughed. “He don’t look so tough. He’s fighting dudes with swords and spears here with a fuckin’ grenade launcher…” Helen laughed. “Then you’ll be fine then?” “Oh yeah, I’ll get him here… whether he comes quietly or I have to drag his ass here.” “Very good, Mr. Deere… We’ll ready your chopper immediately.” END PART 6 (Next Chapter: The Rebel) Category:Blog posts